Life after Hunger
by She11y
Summary: Katniss' story following The Hunger Games Trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

I stand firm and ready. I lock onto my target, whose shifting feathers have revealed its location. I raise my bow and pull the arrow against the string so that it slots securely into place. I know this is right. Some days the action is forced, but today it comes more naturally. Waves of the same memories repeat on a loop. A cycle of faces, scenes and fire stream by; several move rapidly, others in prolonged motions. The arrow quivers, and I discover my hand is shaking, sending convulsions to travel up my arm. I need to focus. My stomach churns nausea and frustration together to create an uncomfortable mix that strangles me of breath. I wait for the moment to pass, clearing my mind. If I don't do this, our meal won't be as satisfactory today. Although we gain a fair sum from occupying a popular baking business, it isn't enough to provide three meals daily. District 12 isn't as poor as it used to be, but reconstructions after the bombings were a struggle, even with the donations provided by other Districts. And with two smaller mouths to feed also, bringing food home seems all the more important.

The Capitol is no longer as selfish with wealth, yet still I look forward to the day when I can feed my family at the push of a button, like I remember they had done. The days are getting better, though. We've transformed Panem into a democracy, where we can elect our President and District Mayors. We can have a say, and there is more equality across our societies. And on one of these days in the future, I will be able to show the young ones the book, tell them how different life was, and how, if they had asked someone back then of the _biggest _game they could play, just like they do now, the answer would have been the worst game of them all.

I release the arrow. It sails horizontally, skimming nearby trees during its course of direction, and sinks into the turkey's left wing. Not being my intended aim, I fear the bird is only wounded. The second shoot that follows drives through its chest, and I'm certain that I've finalised the kill. I gather my bow, arrow, and stuff the bird into my hunting bag. As I trek through the grass towards home, I replay the times when I was in a different part of the forest, when I had a partner to make a slow day seem better than even the best of hunting trips. I dismiss the thoughts and continue to follow the journey remaining, level headed.

I'm greeted by the smell of warm bread. Customers decrease to near zero by late afternoon, and so Peeta bakes for the following day, as well as supplements for our evening meal. I enter the kitchen to find him with our two children covered in a coating of flour and smeared with dough. The children giggle when they see me, and Peeta rotates swiftly round.

"Guilty," he claims, grinning, as he raises two dusted hands in the air. I join in their laughter, dumping my hunt onto the table.

"I guess this means only my hands are clean enough to finish the icing Daddy left in the bowl this morning," I say teasingly.

Prue's eyes widen suddenly. "But Daddy! _You_ said it was all _gone!_" She folds her arms across her chest and Peeta feigns a shocked expression.

"You got me!" he exclaims, placing a hand over his heart. "I was going to surprise you after dinner... will you ever forgive me?"

She ponders this for a moment, and then grins, displaying the gap where her two front teeth had been. "Okay! But _only _if I can have it now?"

"Well like your Mother says, you can't gobble up icing when your hands are like a ghost's," he says, as he chucks her affectionately under the chin. "Take your brother with you and then you can both have some."

Little Gale claps his sticky hands excitedly. Prue takes hold of one and I watch them skip happily away.

I remember trying to choose their names. Initially, I had been reluctant on the idea of children, but eventually agreed after Peeta's persuasion. I knew he would make the ideal father, and so I didn't want to be the one that took his only chance away. I'd never given much thought to children, let alone naming them, yet the holding of my first overwhelmed me with such love and the need to protect her that I shall never forget it. And because of this, we named her after my late sister and friend, who we continue to treasure for an eternity and longer.

I thought he would be more difficult to name, but his grey eyes were enough to remind me of an older companion who shares the same ones.

"This looks promising!" Peeta says, peering into the hunting bag. "Nice catch, darling." He comes over to kiss me but I slap him away.

"Don't even try it with a face like that," I say, reminding him of his white powdered skin.

"Like what?" he asks, touching his face with a look of innocence. "Like this?" He reaches towards me and wipes his hands across my cheeks. I exasperate with laughter and let him plants kisses over my face, leaving my lips until last.

A bell chimes, indicating the arrival of a customer. It's rare that we receive late orders, especially so near to closing time.

"I'll sort this one," I say, untangling myself from Peeta's embrace.

"Don't be too long," he says, kissing my fingertips. "There's a kitchen to be cleaned." He winks mischievously.

"You mean, a kitchen _you've _got to clean," I snort, although we both know too well that this particular room is one we are used to tidying together more than frequent.

I dash down the hallway and open the door leading to the bakery itself. There is little food left on the shelves and in the counter now, so I think that they must be quite desperate if they can't wait until tomorrow.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I say, keeping my face down whilst attempting to remove the majority of the dough and flour plastered to my face. "Can I help you with something?"

"Hey Catnip."

I've lost count of the times I have imagined this almost fanatical scene in my head. I've always pictured us smiling at our reunion. Sometimes we've bumped into each other at the Hob, now a _legal_ trading system for District 12 because of our new Capitol permitting the items, such as my hunts, which had once been forbidden. At times it's me searching for him. My favourite ones are when we discover one another both hunting in the Woods. I'm not certain why I've never pictured him coming to find me here, or even in the meadow where Peeta and I watch the children play, but I guess I've always imagined this to be a private moment, just me and him.

My head shoots up. He's standing at the counter, a tall figure, wearing a monochrome military uniform that I don't recognise. Yet it's his face that is all too familiar. Despite his skin being a darker shade of olive, he shares my dark hair and grey eyes. It's him. He's here.

Gale.

I choke his name out in a whisper. He gives an awkward smile and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

I run around the side of the counter and hug him tight, my face pressing against his chest, inhaling the faint smell of apples and oranges that I remember so well. He responds instantly, and the warmth of his hands on my back fills my eyes with a wetness that spills as silent tears onto his shoulder.

And I realise that I couldn't have created a more perfect moment. Despite being apart for countless years, Gale has always held a place in my heart. And now that he's here, I don't want him to ever leave, because it's not until now, in his arms at last, that I finally understand how much he has always meant to me.


	2. Chapter 2

We remain in each others' arms for what feels like a century. We're silent, but right now it's the most beautiful sound in the world. I become aware that I've stained his uniform with my flood of weeping, and I feel a slight wash of guilt. I sigh heavily. Gale's hand tightens around my worn hunting jacket. There's so much I want to ask him, so much that I think even the Earth doesn't have enough time to spare. So I start with the very first one that comes to mind.

"How did you find me?"

He relaxes his hand and lightly strokes the end strands of my hair. The ease of us together surprises me. I would have thought it to take a while to form even a simple alliance. It turns out that our friendship never disappeared after all.

"I had this idea that moving on would be the best thing. And, at first, it seemed that way. Still, after I worked for _so long_ to reach the top of my career, when I finally got there, I forgot why the hell I bothered trying." He pauses in thought, as he shifts his weight. "I thought about you every day, Katniss. The longer I left it, the worse it got. And then I thought, maybe you don't _want_ to see me... ever."

I should tell him how wrong he is. But I don't, because a part of me still hasn't forgiven him. I decide to store that question away for now.

"It became unbearable, though," he continues. "I didn't care what you would think - I just had to see you. So, I went to the Capitol first... but they said they couldn't give out 'personal information'," he says with a tone of annoyance. "Then, I planned on going to each District, to ask if they knew of a 'Miss Katniss Everdeen'." I'm confused when his voice falters. And then I remember. Even after all this time, it still catches me off guard. Maybe I'm still in amazement, that someone would have such love for me to want to bind it with vows. Maybe I can never let go of the name, knowing that it would be like losing another piece that connects me to my father. Maybe I will never know.

"A woman in the village told me that the name is unfamiliar to her... but if I came to this very bakery, I would find someone called Katniss Mellark." His whole body is still, and I am at loss. Surely he knew, or should have at least suspected? Besides, why should he care? I love Peeta, and there is nothing more to it than that.

He's answered my question, and is now waiting for a response.

I have nothing.

I want to think. My life has paused and made everything too surreal.

_My name is Katniss Mellark. I live in District 12. I am married. I have two children._

Time moves again, and I can feel my body return to me. My arms ache with fatigue around him, my back is relaxed against his touch.

_And Gale has found me._

Gale suddenly clears his throat and pulls away from me. I blink in shock, slowly loosening my limbs after the abrupt emptiness. He hates me. He's regretting he ever came. I can't help but glance at his face. He isn't looking at me, nor is he looking away completely. I turn around.

He's looking at Peeta.

The door that connects the bakery to our home is open, creating a gap where Peeta is standing. Despite holding a calm composure, I can see that he is taken aback. There is evident confusion in his eyes, and I watch them dart from me, to Gale, and finally lock onto my sight.

No one moves. I'm doubtful as to whether he can read anything from me. I know I need to say something, preferably now.

Peeta's lips slowly part, as if about to speak, when Gale's voice behind me says, "Mr Mellark I am assuming." He strides in front of me, his arms crossed behind his back. Peeta's expression is perplexed. He nods slowly and steps forward from behind the counter. Gale, more than a head taller than Peeta and owning a clearly stronger physique, holds out one of his hands.

"I do not know if you remember me," he says, controlling each word he's pronouncing. "We were acquaintances some years ago. My name is -"

"Gale," Peeta finishes. Remembrance spreads across his face. Whilst Gale's hand waits expectantly, Peeta's are clenched tight at his side. I know what Gale's thinking, and he's wrong. Although it appears that Peeta is rudely ignoring the polite gesture of greeting, I've been with him long enough to recognise this as an effort to conceal, and survive, a potential outburst from a flashback. They've been improving since becoming accustomed to this new life, where bad things don't happen. The daily cycle of our work and family have kept the both of us busy, leaving little time to allow our thoughts to trail elsewhere. Gale's arrival now has not only disrupted this cycle, but his link to our past must be causing Peeta such difficulty. He flushes red and mutters words to himself. The desire to close the distance between us and hold him is unbearable. I force myself to resist, remembering his desperation to be able to cope alone. He will never be properly healed, but I see his attempt as a sign of bravery, to protect our children from the same horrors. This is enough for me to agree to his will, and love him for it.

He eventually collects himself and swallows slowly. Gale has evidently taken offence. He curls his fingers into a fist, dropping it to his side like a heavy weight.

Silence consumes us once more, except this time we are surrounded by an intense atmosphere that feels almost claustrophobic.

"Mummy!" The wailing of Prue's voice cuts the air. Judging by Gale's bewildered reaction, he certainly wasn't expecting her also when he made the decision to find me. My legs want to move to Prue, but they're rooted to the floor - trapped, between my child and Gale. I'm thankful that Peeta senses my helplessness. He gives me a final glance before disappearing. I give a small sigh of relief and turn back to Gale, preparing myself for a bombard of questions. Until this point, I hadn't noticed his heavy rucksack situated at his side. He grabs it by the handles, hoists it onto his back and makes for a swift departure.

He acts oblivious to me, even when I call his name. His behaviour stuns me because I can't understand what I've done wrong to upset him. Does he honestly believe he can come back into my life, expecting nothing has changed? Perhaps, to him, I am a different person.

I manage to catch his wrist before he exits, gripping it tight. He looks down at our contact. His jaw line solidifies and the muscles along his arm become tense.

"Don't leave yet," I say.

Rather than consider this, he listens to Peeta's voice floating through the house.

_Prue? Prue, where are you? ...No, Mummy is busy right now. Where... Oh, Prue! What have you done? Look at this mess... in the carpet... your hair!_

There's a further long sob from Prue.

_It... wasn't me..._ she sniffs. _G-Gale did it!_

I don't hear what Peeta says after this; I'm too focused on the man I have with me here. I can feel the increase in his pulse rate through his skin.

As if on cue, the door Peeta exited through creaks open. My little Gale emerges, holding a bowl of icing that's almost the size of him between two chubby hands.

I remember once when I nearly saw my other Gale cry. But that time I was able to prevent it with a kiss. It's when those tears, the same one that I'd forced back in the past, resurface to his eyes, contorted with such pain, that I wish I could save him again. The image of him burns in my mind and I'm temporarily blinded. He takes advantage of my weakness by roughly pulling his arm away from my clutch. The bakery door slams in my face.


	3. Chapter 3

It feels like a punch in the stomach. My ears ring from the bang. Everything hurts.

The sound of a bowl clatters to the floor, followed by an eruption of loud bawls. A baby's cry is unsettling, especially when it's my own infant's. He rolls onto is back, and begins to smack his palms irately beside him. I can't tell which Gale is causing me the most pain. I find myself caught in the middle once more, but this time, Peeta doesn't come. He hasn't heard, or maybe Prue is being a handful. Whatever the reason, I can't afford to waste a second longer.

I kick the icing pot aside with my foot and lift Gale into my arms. He thrashes his arms and legs, pounding my back with his tiny fists. His behaviour is understandable; his hearing isn't accustomed to frequent loud noises. Since building our family, Peeta and I agreed to commence with peaceful foundations, so as to give our children the best start in life. We felt we should prevent the need for them to suffer or apprehend terrors similar to the ones we were forced to face, clarifying Peeta's rationale to control himself when in his neurotic state of mind. I could say I'm fortunate in the sense that my fears only rekindle in the form of nightmares, because Peeta is always there. His love can cure me.

I have a brief reminiscence, dating from 2 years ago. Gale was only a few months old. The household was lacking sleep, naming it a stressful period. I remember my weakness when trying to hunt, refusing to listen to Peeta's concern for my health. I didn't want to burden him with our hunger when he worked unceasingly to feed District 12 daily. Coming home, I'd found Peeta collapsed on a work surface. Prue, who hadn't yet started school, was leaning over Gale's pram, trying to coax him to sleep with repetitive pats on the head. The situation I witnessed enraged me. I was appalled at Peeta's neglect for our children. The argument was full of spiteful words and our residual morsels of energy. There were tears of anger and sadness. The sound of our children's unhappiness brought us to our senses. We shared a sweet forgiveness and so many words of sorry, intensifying our love and trust.

Watching Gale walking away leads me to doubt anything similar will occur.

A fine drizzle has begun, and sheets of wet mist spray my clothes and hair. Little Gale's screams are drowned out slightly in the wind, but they're loud enough to be heard, even from the distance Gale is at. He's choosing to ignore us.

The small gravel road he's following runs past the front of the bakery. Although it's a long way, if he keeps to his path he'll arrive at District 12 train station. Gale can't leave, not yet.

Repositioning my toddler on my hip, I use my free hand to push back straying strands of damp hair. Despite my internal trembles of alarm, my footsteps sound solid and sure as I fling the gate open, leading onto the road.

Peeta has done his best to improve the bakery's exterior. There's little space to plant anything appealing; although this is made up by the extended garden we have at the back, where we grow food for District 12. Each morning, we give crops to the Hob, where people take only what they need. We're not selfish - no one is. We help one another, and that way no one suffers.

The bakery shop windows are what attract our customers. Peeta's artistic passion gives him this ability to create something beautiful with just about anything. He's painted signs and posters that brighten dreary skies and faces; he's put out his best cakes, and decorated them with such intricate detail that staring at them would seem more pleasurable than eating the magic inside. And somehow, he's arranged everything so perfectly that I wonder how he always manages to make the next display better than the last.

My mood brightens. Only temporarily, but it's enough to give me courage, and have hope that Gale won't leave, that he'll want to stay here for a while longer.

I call his name; scream for him to come back. The closer I become, the more desperate I am. I trip over loose stones and struggle to keep a hold on little Gale as rain drops lubricate my grip. He's an arm's length away; I can hear his harsh breathing, see the side of his face. Lips a blanched line, red eyed. I step in his path and press my hand against his chest.

"Gale... stop..." My voice is breathless. I take in mouthfuls of cold air, trying to work out how my happiness could have collapsed so suddenly, like the way this bleak weather replaced the warmth of the sun in the sky. He doesn't look at me. Instead, he blinks away cascading water droplets from his lashes.

"Go home, Katniss."

_Home?_ He said the word hard and bitter, as if it repulsed him. I never asked about his life in District 2. What's his home like? Does he live with anyone else? Does he have his own family? Somehow, I don't find the chances of this high at all.

"Where are you going, Gale?" I say. His heart beats against the pressure of my palm.

He shoves my arm aside and continues moving. "Back where I belong."

I stumble dejectedly after him. "But... but... you _do_ belong..." I say, my throat hoarse and dry, despite the rain tumbling into my mouth. I have to make him understand, but it seems that whatever I say has no effect at all.

"Gale... I _need_ you."

His feet stop moving. "_Need_ me?" When he turns, it dawns on me the amount of years he has aged since I last saw him. I begin to notice the tiredness that overcasts his face, the creases in the skin around his eyes, the subtle flecks of white in his dark hair. He's older, but he's still Gale. Or maybe he has been replaced with this man, who seems to loathe me and wish that I'd leave him alone.

Not a chance.

"_Need_ me?" he repeats more forcefully. "How can you _stand_ there, look me in the eye and say that you honestly _need_ _me_?" He dumps his rucksack into a puddle of dirt beside him and walks towards me, slow and in control. "You've got what you need: you've got your home, you've got the guy, and you've got his kids." He spits on the ground. "Even though you told me you never wanted to have any."

It comes back to me. That day: _Reaping _day. In the forest, Gale and me.

"_I never want to have kids," I say._

"_I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale._

"_But you do," I say, irritated._

"_Forget it," he snaps back._

_The conversation feels all wrong. Leave? How could I leave Prim, who is the only person in the world I'm certain I love? And Gale is devoted to his family. We can't leave, so why bother talking about it? And even if we did... even if we did... where did this stuff about having kids come from? There's never been anything romantic between Gale and me._

I was just too stupid to realise then. I didn't know that he loved me, didn't think about how he must have felt when he saw me kissing Peeta in the arena, how much it must have hurt him... What would life have been like if we had run off? Would the Hunger Games still be happening now? Would the people who are dead still be alive now? _No,_ I think grimly. Prim would have been a tribute. She wouldn't have survived. Maybe she would have met Rue... Cato would have undoubtedly won. What would have happened in the third Quarter Quell? Would the rebellion still have taken place? And what about President Snow? President Coin? How strange this alternate universe seems. Would it have been any better than the one I have now? I think about Peeta. He would have gone to the arena with Prim. He would be dead now too. That's when I know I've made the right decision. A life without Peeta is one not worth living. I've been watching the memory and this other life that could have been play in Gale's eyes, and he can see in mine that I've never wanted it as much as he does.

"Heck," Gale mutters. "You even have your very own Gale." He grimaces. "No, Katniss, you don't need me. Not anymore."

This can't be it. I'm not going to give up fighting.

"Maybe you're right," I say. "Maybe I don't need you." He looks away and nods, as if he expected I would say this. "Call me selfish, but I want you."

The wall that has been separating me and Gale crumbles to some extent. The invisible string that has been pulling Gale taut appears to have been cut. He folds his arms and glances at me obliquely.

"That is pretty selfish," he muses, his mouth twitching.

We listen to the gentle pattering of rain, uncertain as to what happens next. My baby Gale has stopped crying. His head is resting against my chest; thumb in mouth; eyes, sore but content, fixed on Gale's. Together, they became lost in a private world. This connection between them feels too precious to disturb, and I can only guess as to what they're reflecting between themselves. That other life - the one that could have been. Me, Gale, and our child with _our _grey eyes.

Unfolding his arms, Gale lifts his hand to the face of the baby which doesn't really belong to us both. He wipes a tear sitting precariously on the little one's cheek with his thumb, and smiles fondly when he sees a giggle bubble from his small throat.

This moment of bliss fades. Gale straightens up, his face clean of any emotion. The connection is lost.

He swings his bag onto his shoulder.

And when he says, "Goodbye, Katniss," I know for sure now that there really is nothing I can do to stop him from leaving me for good.


	4. Chapter 4

Emptiness can seem quite dauntless, something that should be deterred. Although I think it's better than anguish, or resentment, or fear, because numbness is a lone side effect. It's easier, and it leaves me dry of tears. I don't have the energy to cry anyway.

I watch him, becoming further, and further out of reach. The sky is settling, but the downpour has soaked my clothes with a cold weight. I would expect little Gale to be distressed from the discomfiture, so I find it unusual to see him quite still in my arms. He too is staring ahead, and as I turn back to look myself, the man who once considered me as his friend is now out of sight entirely. Gone.

I'm no longer optimistic about this hollow sensation. I'm left a shell: fragile, and able to shatter into a thousand pieces. I won't let it happen – I can't. It will frighten the children and worry Peeta. I would hate for him to feel that he needed to call Dr Aurelius. I haven't needed to see him for over a year, and I don't intend on changing that. I must be strong.

I feel a light pressure on my shoulder. A hand, that reminds me of warmth, love and home – Peeta's hand. How long had he been watching? My back had been facing him, and although Gale must have seen him standing there, he had purposefully chosen not to mention anything to me.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta says in a delicate tone. And I know he means it, because that's what Peeta is like. Despite his discordant relationship with Gale, he still understands the connection I share with him. And it's why he agreed to the name for our second born. With reasons such as these, I never forget Peeta when counting my blessings.

I struggle to speak; the words won't form and my mouth refuses to open. Unable to talk... like an Avox.

Peeta slides his hand into mine and squeezes it gently. I want to respond, but my fingers are too stiff. He brings me around and, together, we begin to walk back to our home. Each step is an effort, as if I'm wearing shoes that are made from stone. I think Peeta can sense that I want to keep a hold of our child; he's the only Gale I have left now. He doesn't ask for me to hand him over, but instead he becomes my support, someone to fall back on, so that I can cope in this weak condition I have succumbed to.

Slowly, but surely, we reach home, passing through the bakery entrance. I gain an impulsive dislike for the bell above the door. How it creates that 'cheerful' ring, intending to try to brighten any day. Yet it doesn't. Nothing can eradicate the ache in my chest; ease the hard lump building in my throat. I swallow, and then attempt to suppress the bile rising inside of me.

A single word forms on my lips. "Bed," I whisper.

"Would you like me to hold Gale now?" asks Peeta's soft voice. I nod.

My poor, tiny boy. I dread to dwell on the number of shivers from the cold he has had to tolerate. I'm a terrible Mother for taking him outside with me. He will need bathing, feeding, and I hope Peeta remembers to switch on his lullaby bear; he can't sleep without it. And my darling Prue! How long will it take to remove the sticky icing from her hair? Does Peeta remember the time it takes for the turkey to cook? I hope he has the sense not to cook it all - and Prue hates any brown meat... She needs to be read a story tonight. Which one had we started again? Or maybe I sang to her last night...

My vision latches onto the muddy tracks across the floor tiles. Large, heavy boot prints. They seem too big for mine or the children's, and Peeta hasn't worn his pair for a few days.

Of course, how stupid of me.

They belong to _him._ It never occurred to me before on the extent Gale must have gone to find me. Not only am I a selfish Mother, but I'm a selfish friend. A selfish, _selfish..._

"Katniss," Peeta murmurs. "You can let go now. It's okay, I've got him."

... wife. I'm a selfish wife too. As he carefully uncurls each individual finger I've secured around our young child, I remember that I wasn't the only one who suffered from Gale's arrival. Still, here Peeta is, coping because he has to. I can't do it, though. I need tranquil darkness, solitude, and rest.

My body finds its way to the bedroom in a dream-like state. I don't bother with undressing fully, as I've only enough energy to remove my boots and shrug off my jacket. I become unstable, and balance my weight against one of the four walls which enclose me. It connects to a wide window, overlooking the orchard and vegetable gardens. My sight falls on something nearer, closer to both my home and heart.

I'd been the one who suggested to Peeta that we live here. During the two years which followed that final day of hunger across Panem, we'd found ourselves and each other. I continued to hunt, whilst he remembered his ardour for art and baking. He helped with the rebuilding of the bakery and his family home above it. And although I believed him when he claimed to prefer that he live his lifetime by my side, I also knew that part of him wanted to return home, as did I.

In truth, I had nowhere to reside. The place where I'd spent 16 years of my life became a ruin of memories which I never wish to reawaken. I was glad to see a small hospital being constructed over it. As far as Victor's Village was concerned, I'd only spent a small amount of time there. Despite its luxury, it was a gift, a prize that I couldn't accept after all that had happened. Peeta shouldn't have had to suffer either. I knew then that my home is wherever he is.

He planted the flowers for me again – the primroses – like he'd done before. I can't recall the last time I walked down that road with its magnificent houses, the area which survived the bombings. I'm curious as to whether those plants still thrive, whether the new occupants of the house are tending to them.

It doesn't matter though, because I have more. They line either side of the small path which leads to, as Prue refers to it, 'District Food'. Peeta names it 'Garden of Life' which I think, secretly, seems more fitting.

The primroses, in my eyes, never die. He doesn't say, but Peeta replenishes and replaces them before they wilt completely. Sometimes dandelions grow around them. I won't let him destroy them all. He calls them weeds, but I need them there just as much as the primroses. My flowers of love and my flowers of hope.

Prim. My sister, Prim, who never had the chance to see the world at present. What hope did she have? She'd helped so many, but who had been there for her? Not me. I close my eyes. Gale's face flashes behind my eyelids. Screams, burning, pain. Emptiness.

My legs buckle beneath me. Moving away from the window, I lay down on the bed, the side of my face pressed against the pillow. I won't sleep, because if I do, my dreams are sure to torture me with haunting visions. No, not visions.

Memories.

At one point, I hear Peeta say that dinner is available, if I want it, as well as anything else for that matter. I say nothing. He tells me loves me, and then he's gone again.

When he returns, several hours must have passed because now he is retiring for the night. He treads quietly as he closes the curtains, changes, and moves to the bed. He must be assuming that I'm asleep, which I don't bother to correct him on. His fingertips brush my shoulders as he drapes a thin material over me, a blanket perhaps. They linger there for a moment, before his lips touch my forehead tenderly, like a butterfly landing in a delicate casing of petals. Then he lies beside me, sliding one arm over my waist; familiar, and as warm as a sunset. A simple caress, so he can rest knowing that, even in the darkest of hours, I won't be starved of love.

His coaxing overwhelms me with tiredness, and soon I give in to sleep. Only a little, but at least my thoughts remain blank. I have no dreams at all. Peeta stirs during the early hours; I wake. I doubt I'll be lucky enough to restore my energy any further. I become restless. I need space, air to breathe. I slowly retreat from the consoling weight of Peeta's arm. My movements are swift in the obscure room as I slip blindly into my jacket, followed by my boots. There's a gentle snore that rises from Peeta, making my chest tighten with the desire to stay here with him instead. I leave without a second thought, taking my bow and arrows with me.


	5. Chapter 5

Once outside, I start to awaken. Despite the lack of sunlight, my legs are able to lead me in the right direction, becoming more alive with each of my inhalations. My lungs expand agreeably from the cold air of the night. The winter months will soon be approaching, so I should make use of the woods and the game I can catch whilst the option is available. However, this didn't spark my motivation to abandon the shield of Peeta's affection and our bed. Out here, I can occupy myself, clear my head. Out here, I will forget. Or at least try to.

Aside from the crunching of decaying leaves and twigs underfoot, the woods are eerily quiet. It's impossible to distinguish anything. Trees inches from my face are imperceptible and I stumble over their gnarled roots. I'm disruptive; a hindrance to nature. I halt abruptly in my tracks, press my back against one of the thicker tree trunks, and wait.

_I am Katniss Mellark. I can hunt. I _know_ these woods. I know what to do. I..._

Movement: behind the foliage to my right. I scramble hastily to my feet, cursing myself for the amount of noise I'm creating. Steadying my breathing, I creep towards the source that caught my attention, bow and arrow at the ready.

I stand my ground and squint in the heavy gloom. Another rustle-unmistakable this time. If I waste any further time debating to myself, the animal is sure to dart away. I may not find another one today. I make my decision.

The arrow springs forward into the mass of dense plants. I hear a muffle cry and know that I haven't missed. Searching for a small entrance through the leaves, I contemplate on what I may have caught. It seemed quite large... maybe a deer? I should hunt by night more often. I can see the bulk of it in front of me, and step cautiously towards it. Gale would have been impressed with this.

No, I must stop myself from thinking about him. He's gone, and he's not coming back. He doesn't care for me anymore, and frankly... I don't care about him either.

"You call that hunting?" his voice says.

I'm having hallucinations; I'll have to pay a visit to Dr Aurelius because of this incident. Yet it sounded... so _real..._

"You need to work on your aim, _Catnip_."

I'm not imagining this. I look down. The voice... it came from my prey. My heart plummets as I realise the sickening truth.

I have shot Gale.

There's a slight sharpness to his breathing. Disregarding our recent encounter, I fall to my knees, seeking out for the arrow. It's lodged repellently in the upper part of his thigh, puncturing skin and potentially muscle. He groans as I wedge it out, regretting my decision instantly. They say removing the weapon increases blood loss. I think of Mother in District 4, and wish she could be here now. I chuck the arrow angrily, and tear material from the bottom of Gale's trouser leg. He fidgets in agitation as I tie it firmly around the wound. Now what do I do?

"Get off me, Katniss," Gale says through gritted teeth. He attempts to sit up, but I force him back down by slamming my forearm against his chest.

"Hey, I'm saving your damned life here," I retort. "Unless you would rather bleed to death." The words sound harsh on my lips but he deserves every one.

"You were the one trying to _kill_ me in the first place," he grunts, pushing me away, although he doesn't attempt to move again.

I sit back on the balls of my feet, watching his injured leg twitch.

"I thought I told you to go home," his voice slurs. I begin to panic, reanalysing that damage I may have caused.

"I thought that was where you were going," I say, trying to neutralise the newfound alarm in my tone.

"Already here," he declares sardonically, gesturing to the woods around us with a limp wave of his hand. "I did say I'll always do it."

"Gale, that was nearly _twenty_ years ago -"

"Besides," he interjects, "I got distracted by... by a friend of yours." Gale chuckles low, resulting into a series of raucous coughs. His breath smells stale and alcoholic.

"You're drunk," I state bitterly. Standing upright, I wipe my blood-stained fingers along my trousers, irritated that I troubled myself to help him.

Recovering from his splutters, Gale asks, "What gave it away?" his tone thick with sarcasm.

I glare at him, disgusted with his attitude and lack of responsibility. "I shouldn't have bothered to help you," I mutter, snatching up my belongings. "Good luck finding your way home."

"Katniss... wait..." moans Gale behind me.

"What?" I snap, whirling around in anger. I hate this. I hate this so much. It doesn't feel right at all. Gale doesn't get drunk and become lost in forest. I shouldn't shout at him and leave him to suffer. Yet inside of me, I sense the flaring of anger, pain and hate that I have ever felt towards him. And I can't contain it any longer.

"I can't... get up..."

"And you expect me – after what you _did_ and _said_ – to help you?" I ask in disbelief.

"After... after what _I_ did?" Gale questions. "I came to find you! But there you were playing _happy families_."

"What did you expect, Gale?" I cry. "That I would sulk around for a bit, catch a few squirrels and drown in my sorrows with Haymitch when he bothered to show his face once in a while? I've moved on Gale! I'm not like... like..."

"Like me," finished Gale sourly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

We both know it's true. We went our separate ways, and only one of us came out of it okay. It would make sense for that person to have been Gale, since he was the one who moved away to a new job with his mentality in sufficient condition. That said, here he is, moping in a forest, intoxicated with drink from who knows where.

And then I realise, I do know where.

"You mean Haymitch, don't you?" I murmur. Yet, when I speak again, my voice level raises. "You went to go see Haymitch! Gale, are you an idiot?"

I wasn't aware that the man had returned. He often abandons his home, the same one in Victor's Village - not that we call it that anymore. Since the homes couldn't be awarded to champions of a game that no longer existed, they were given to those who needed shelter the most. Consequently, the name didn't seem as appropriate. Alongside the Seam, which is better off than it was, and the Merchant section where I live with my family, we now have the Small Village section. Although limited with space, a few shops of different variety were able to be built there, making the area feel welcome to everyone.

Haymitch comes and goes as he pleases, leaving his geese to their own devices. Sometimes we'll pay him a visit, which involves monitoring each other's health and Peeta and I tidying his home. He's been known to come to our home on the odd occasion, although the children are slightly sceptical of him. He doesn't stay for long.

It doesn't make sense why Gale would have the incentive to go to his home. Although, if Haymitch had been wondering around aimlessly, it wouldn't surprise me that he would have invited Gale round for 'just one drink'.

"So _that_ was his name," Gale muses tiredly. He yawns loudly, and says, "Well, I'm going to sleep here for a bit."

"What?" I ask incredulously. "We have to get home, Gale!"

"We? I don't belong with you, remember? Besides, I assumed you came out here to get away from 'home'," he says, smug because he knows that, for the first time this dawn, he's making sense.

"Well, I've change my mind now. Come on, we're going."

"But I already said!" protests Gale. "This is my home."

"For Christ's sake!" I exclaim, striding towards Gale. "Get up now."

It's as if my motherly instincts have kicked in, and I'm trying to protect my child, this drunken man who can't fend for himself.

Gale groans morosely. "Help me up then."

Grudgingly, I grab his hand and try to haul him up. He stubbornly uses his weight to make my task near impossible. I barely lift him an inch from the ground. Gale laughs, knowing he's won.

"Damn you, Gale!" I say, throwing a stick at him, aggravated.

"Lighten up a bit, Katniss. What you need is a drink." He expresses his amusement further, pulling out a small bottle from his pocket. "Here you go."

"Gale, this isn't you!" I say, snatching the bottle from him. "You don't get drunk!"

"Then maybe you don't really know me."

"No, I know who you are. And if I'm going to be honest, I don't like what I see." I fold my arms across my chest in defiance.

Gale shrugs. "Don't look then," he mutters. As he places his hands behind his head, he chuckles again.

"In fact," I state, "You're just like Haymitch."

Gale begins to whistle an unfamiliar tune and I exhale in irritation.

"Was it fun?" I cry. The years I have spent without Gale return to mind, and with each one I remember, the more my annoyance builds. "Did you have a nice catch up? A good gossip about me? About Peeta? Did you laugh yourself to tears when you heard how we still suffer, or -"

"Listen to yourself," says Gale, mirth having left his face. "Do you think I would laugh about something like that?" He manages to raise himself to a sitting position and this time I don't try to prevent the movement. "You're right about one thing though," he says. "I did have fun. I had a better time than I did at your place. And the funniest bit is that I had to give up my job to find you, so thanks for the warm welcome."

"I didn't ask you to come. Maybe I didn't even want you to!" My throat feels hoarse from the excessive volume, but I've experienced worse pain. "My family is doing just fine. And so am I."

"Like I'm going to believe that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not fooling anyone, Katniss!" Gale gradually regains his footing and his height intimidates me. "You go round, pretending that you're _just fine_. But it's pretty damn obvious that you're not. Why do you think Haymitch is hiding things from you?"

If Gale wasn't drunk, I'm sure he would have regretted that last sentence.

"What are you talking about?" I say with a voice that's low and dangerous.

"You won't be able to cope if I told you, Katniss," Gale sneers, staggering towards me.

I want to tell him that he has no right to accuse me of things, but he isn't wrong. I can't cope. I doubt I ever will, so how is another burden of bleak knowledge going to affect me anymore than the damaged state I'm already in?

I pull an arrow out from my quiver and point the tip at his neck. "You better explain yourself or so help me -"

"You're mother," Gale declares, wrenching the arrow from my grip and snapping it in half. "She's dead."


End file.
